


An Ode To The Young

by chalahandra (orphan_account)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Character Study, Clan Politics, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationship, The Blitz, War, World War I, World War II, all the characters ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/chalahandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many children have been forced into the life of a Shinigami, this is but the tale of a few. A series of interconnected stories and drabbles from the (stolen) childhoods of these characters. Spoilers for current chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pity the child

> Comfort;

You watched silently as Hirako-taichou began to twist in pain, the white stuff that Hollow masks were made of spilling out of his mouth. Keep smiling, and no one will notice how utterly horrified you are – or that was the general idea. Keep quiet, keep out of the way, and bide your time. You’ll survive, and you’ll thrive.  
  
You will have your revenge.  
  
 _(It curls raw and wild in his stomach, and it makes him feel peculiarly ill to think of it even now – this was wrong, it went against everything that he had ever known as a Shinigami; but endure he would.)_  
  
Ran deserved no less.  
 __  
(cold comfort that he had only himself to confide in, even though little Ise was such a good listener; couldn’t risk it, couldn’t **chance it** )   
  
All you have to do is survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we start with Gin, who has one of the most tragic tales in all Bleach, if you really think about it.


	2. Pro Patria Mori

> Pain;

Lightning cracked overhead, and water fell like bullets; and as rifles cracked, he ran through emplacements, hunting the Hollow. Swiftly, swiftly – he breathed in, and felt the lantern-lights of his fellow Shinigami; out of sight, but within reach if he needed it. Soaked to the skin, he gave one last burst of speed, drawing up next to the haunches of the fell spirit, and drew his zanpakutou. It turned on him with a scream (it could never be anything but terrifying, that damn sound), and he yelled a kiai in return, slashing through the mask in one economical movement. That was the problem with small zanpakutou – in order to deal damage, you had to get up close.

Another flash of lightning lit up his surrounds, and he stood still, and let the rain wash over him and wash his blade clean. Breathe. Think. Listen. He stretched his senses, feeling for the next Hollow—

_Crack._

It _burned_ , his stomach burned something fierce and wrong and it whited out his world with pain (mother, help, it hurts, it hurts so bad) – vaguely, the hush and step-pull- _fall_ of shunpou registered as he fell forward--

“Fire! We nearly got him--”

Step-pull- _fall_. Hands on his shoulders, pulling him out of the danger zone. Step-pull- _fall_. “Iba, talk to me.” That Kuchiki brat, so damn bossy. “Talk to me, what happened?” Lantern-lights drawing closer, worried and scared; humans shouldn’t be able to see them, how the hell-

“We need to move; they can see us, Kuchiki-san.” A group of black-clad kids with swords? On a battlefield covered in corpses, on a moonless night, in a storm? Hell, he’d probably shoot at them too. “The deaths they’ve seen mean that they can see _us._ ” More shots. He pried his eyes open to see Ise and Kuchiki leaning over him - huh. Never noticed how similar they looked. All ivory skin and piercing eyes and dark hair.

Lightning-bright, Ichimaru stepped into view, peering at the wound on his stomach. Shallow breaths, just breathe shallow _breathsohgodwho was touching him?!_ Reiatsu ripped out at the small fingers probing the edges of the wound, and Ise sucked in a breath, shaking the pain out of scalded fingers. Just trying to help. Ma, you never said this'd hurt so much!  
“He needs a healer.” Kuchiki shot a look at Ichimaru, who promptly ducked for cover as another burst of fire sent chunks of wood flying in every which way. “Can’t move him without knitting some of that back together, yeah?” Mud-spattered silver hair reappeared in his vision as the young lieutenant crawled over to where they were. Ise nodded frantically, glasses sliding down her face.

“I don’t want to risk it – did you see where Kotetsu went? She’s part of the Fourth...” More shouting – someone was looking for them now. Running out of time. Shouts, shots, running feet ( _faster than any human_ ), and another Shinigami tumbled through the bushes, skidding face-first across the muddy ground to where they were. He turned his head to look- “Speak of the devil. Kotetsu, Iba’s been-” “Shot, yes.” She swiped mud away from her face, and bent to look at the wound. “I’d heard as much from senpai.” Yamada-fukutaichou, then. That made sense _owfuckSTOP!_

She did not recoil from her task, despite Ise muttering warnings about how close they were cutting it as beams of light roved over their heads. Hunting parties, searching for them. All’s fair in love and war, wasn’t it? And then he was being pulled to his feet and _nothing_ should feel like that, ever, and his mind slid away into the darkness.

A temporary reprieve, but it was still a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A piece of headcanon, now. Shinigami must have been involved in the world wars, simply because of the amount of people who died on the field of battle. That many souls would have been irresistible to Hollows, and if Seireitei had any amount of sense, they would have sent several Divisions to perform konsou and cleanse Hollows. 
> 
> As for Iba getting shot? Rule of drama. And also a possible explanation as to why he has bandages wrapped around his midsection all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> And so we start with Gin, who has one of the most tragic tales in all Bleach, if you really think about it.


End file.
